


Blue Eyes

by mxlia



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-11
Updated: 2016-05-11
Packaged: 2018-06-07 19:51:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6821719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mxlia/pseuds/mxlia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So blind, so blind<br/>What's the matter, matter<br/>Blue eyes, blue eyes<br/>What's the matter with you?</p><p>Seto Kaiba x Reader</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blue Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> The song lyrics are from "Blue Eyes" by Mika. Great song, and also way more upbeat than the lyrics would suggest.

The small apartment is desolate when you walk in, dropping the handle of your luggage as soon as you step through the threshold. The suitcase clatters to the ground, your purse falling next to it. Kicking off your shoes, you wander further down the hallway, past the kitchen, through the living room, and into the bedroom. All around you are only the bare necessities for a home; the majority of your personal possessions are still crammed tightly in the suitcase you had left by the front door. 

It’s a little lonely, looking at the bare white walls and pristine bedsheets, cold and unused for months. Your desk, usually laid out with all manner of books and art supplies, is devoid of any clutter save a thin veil of dust, and your fingers itch to reach out and smooth across the wooden surface. 

The bathroom is the same way, slightly dusty, the countertop and bathtub mocking you in its empty whiteness. The cabinet behind the mirror contains only a small container of floss and a tube of mascara that has long dried out. You throw it in the garbage can, the object hitting the bottom with a metallic clunk, and you’re glad that the action at least makes your apartment look somewhat inhabited. Exiting the bathroom, you pad back through the living room—with its worn couch and ancient television—to the kitchen, where your stainless steel pots and pans hang neatly. One look in the refrigerator reveals nothing edible, but a quick raid of the cabinet above it yields a few packages of instant ramen, which you immediately throw into a pot with some water. You would have to go grocery shopping tomorrow, and for a moment, you’re struck by how _strange_ the once-familiar concept seems. Maybe it’s because you’d grown used to servants and cooks over the months, but that train of thought is quickly dispelled. As your ramen cooks, you head back to the front door, picking up your suitcase and lugging it to your bedroom. Tossing it on your bed, you stare at it for a few silent moments before reaching for the zipper. The closet in the corner is depressingly empty, and you need to unpack your clothes anyway. 

But unpacking would mean admitting the truth to yourself, and that’s something you want to avoid. For forever, if it was possible, but you know that you’re only deluding yourself. 

Then again, maybe delusions are all you’re good for.

* * *

* * *

__  
Your heart is broken  
To your surprise  
You’re sick of crying  
For blue eyes  


* * *

* * *

The laptop on his desk hums quietly, the screen illuminating his face as he continues typing away. Night is falling quickly, and his office is growing darker by the minute. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows that he should switch on the lights, but he’s unwilling to cease working for even a second. The clacking of the keys and the familiar hum of the laptop calm him with their familiar, methodical sounds. It keeps his thoughts from wandering to subjects he doesn’t want to breach. 

Not now. Not ever. 

And yet, his brain refuses to cooperate with him tonight, conjuring up images of your smiling face and memories of the way you would skip into his office, perching on the corner of his desk and watching him work. Reluctantly, he glances over at the corner you would usually inhabit, and curses as he finds his fingers stilling on the keyboard. 

You aren’t sitting there, of course. Even the mere thought that you would be is ridiculous—he knows that you’ll never sit there again, and he doesn’t want you to be there anyway. It’s much easier to concentrate on his work without you there, smiling and talking to him, no matter how much he tells you to leave him alone. You had always been stubborn like that. Stubborn and irritating beyond belief, invading his personal space and taking root in his life. 

And he tells himself that he’s glad you’re gone, out of his life forever, ignoring the hushed whisper in the back of his mind that says he’s deluding himself.

* * *

* * *

__  
So tired of living  
Misunderstood  
Think hard, woman  
I think you should  


* * *

* * *

You aren’t sure when your relationship with Kaiba had started declining, and you find yourself wondering what could’ve possibly caused it as you stare down at your cooking ramen. Perhaps it was when he started returning home later and later each evening—though that was fairly normal for him. Being the president of the biggest gaming corporation in the world wasn’t easy, and you understood that his company was his priority. You knew that he wouldn’t always be able to make dates and spend time with you. 

It hadn’t stopped you from wishing that he would join you in bed at night, or that he would call you well in advance to warn you when he was cancelling a date. But you never told him that. Every time Kaiba holed himself up in his office, you just spent time with Mokuba instead, or curled up in one of the many plush armchairs in the mansion’s library with a good book. More often than not, you wound up falling asleep there, though you always mysteriously woke up in the bed you and Kaiba shared. Despite the fact that he was almost always gone when you woke up, you occasionally spotted a slight indentation in the pillow beside yours, as if someone had been sleeping there. 

Seto Kaiba was not the most romantic, charismatic of men. He was downright callous and rude most of the time. Yet, he had cared about you in his own way, and that had been good enough for you. 

So when did everything start going downhill?

* * *

* * *

__  
Come, sorrow is so peculiar  
It comes in a day, then it’ll never leave you  
You take a pill, wonder if it will fix you  
Then wonder why sorrow has never left you  


* * *

* * *

He can’t concentrate. The words on his computer screen blur together, and the slight throbbing in his temple signals the beginnings of a headache. For a few minutes, he stubbornly tries to push through it, willing the ache to go away as he continues typing away at his computer. 

Then he blinks wearily, and in the split-second that his vision is clear, he sees that everything he’s just typed out is nearly incomprehensible. Kaiba sighs. Slowly, he begins closing his files, shutting down his computer and packing it away before standing up from his chair. His joints creak in protest at the sudden movement. 

It’s a clear night—the velvety sky above Domino is speckled with stars, barely visible in the artificial glare of the city below. Kaiba looks up at the pale crescent moon, its wan light providing the only illumination in his office now that his computer was off. Then he directs his gaze downward, letting his head lean against the smooth, cold glass of the window. Somewhere down there, amongst the bright lights and loud traffic and bustling crowds, you are doing whatever it is that a young woman does in her spare time. It is nearing eleven o’clock now, and he prefers to think that you’re sitting in your home, curled up in bed with a book. And that you’re happy. 

His headache worsens, and Kaiba is forced to shut his eyes. He fights to remain upright as a sudden dizziness overtakes him, and he wonders if it’s due to exhaustion. You had always told him that he’d work himself into an early grave. He’d never listened. But now here he is, standing next to the window that you had loved staring out of, his work put aside. You’d be ecstatic if you could see him. 

The spell passes, and he opens his eyes again. For a moment, he almost thinks that he can pick out your apartment from the rest, a brilliant burst of color among the yellows and oranges of streetlamps and headlights and glows from households. 

Then he blinks and it’s gone, fading away into the city far below.

* * *

* * *

_So blind, so blind_  
What’s the matter, matter  
Blue eyes, blue eyes  
What’s the matter with you? __

* * *

* * *


End file.
